took long sips of the cold water, her shirt clinging to her in all the right places.
Josiah decided he wasn’t ready to get back to work, not just yet, not when he might find a need to put his hands on Crimson again. So they took a lunch break. He knew he needed to distract his mind, get it off Crimson and her body. Because he could still feel her pressed against him, and it was driving him insane. He reflected on what it was she’d shared with him, reminding himself she was still damaged, still hurt. And then, because she’d been so open with him, he decided to let her in, let her see a little of his own personal, hellish past.
Josiah knew that Crimson tended to steer away from anything having to do with Billy. He could see she was uncomfortable around him. But, he also knew that Billy desperately loved her and regretted his actions in the past regarding her. He told Crimson about Billy, how Billy had helped him, how Billy had saved him. And as he spoke, he watched the walls come back up. Crimson tried making light of the situation, tried to shift the focus from her and Billy, and their lack of relationship. In doing so, she’d inadvertently brought the conversation right back to Josiah and herself.
“What are your tattoos?” she asked, quickly shifting gears, seeking a diversion.
Josiah grinned to himself; he knew she was reaching for anything to pull her away from her thoughts, but now he was cornered. He’d tried, tried to let it go, but her diversion fueled his desire, fanning the flames until he felt devoured by it. He kept his gaze focused on her — his blue eyes held her golden, honey-brown ones. Maybe it was time she was made perfectly aware of his feelings for her, made to face her attraction to him.
“Are you trying to get me to take my shirt off?” he asked. He kept his voice low, gentle, but there was a world of weight in it.
And Crimson saw it for what it was. She responded. He saw it in her eyes; saw it in the blush staining her cheeks. She quickly tried denying her desire to see him undressed, stammered, and stuttered. Josiah felt the raw, male animal in him growl in anticipation. He chuckled and swiftly stood to remove his shirt.
He watched as Crimson devoured him with her eyes. It was like she was touching him. Everywhere her eyes landed he burned. And then as she stood up and stepped close to him, barely a breath separating them, and lightly touched his chest; he’d barely been able to stand still. What he wanted to do was rub against her, to pull her into him and wrap his arms around her. To take her mouth and possess it. Instead, he held himself absolutely and perfectly still. When her eyes caught his, he saw the questions in them. She’d seen his scars, had touched them gently, hesitantly.
He explained about his mother and saw the horror, the sickness in Crimson’s eyes. He also saw the flash of anger. That fury sparked something inside him. She was protective of him. And that gave Josiah peace. He turned around, let her see his back. It was a beautiful work of art. Dragon wings were tattooed there in intricate detail. He’d picked a dragon because the fire that was meant to break him had only made him stronger. Dragons were not conquered by fire; it was their weapon, their defense.
Josiah turned back around so they were facing each other. Crimson kept her eyes on his chest. Those golden brown orbs just moved enticingly slow across his skin. She tried, once again, to veer off from where he wanted to take her, or maybe it was just that she was trying to slow things down. She asked him why. Why was he helping her? Why had he made her wake up and make a choice?
Josiah knew where his answer was going. He knew he was going to kiss this girl. So, as he told her his reasons, he stepped closer to her; he brushed against her and felt her slight tremor. He traced his hands gently across her shoulders, those shoulders that drove him crazy, reveling in the softness under his palms, feeling the
Josiah decided he wasn’t ready to get back to work, not just yet, not when he might find a need to put his hands on Crimson again. So they took a lunch break. He knew he needed to distract his mind, get it off Crimson and her body. Because he could still feel her pressed against him, and it was driving him insane. He reflected on what it was she’d shared with him, reminding himself she was still damaged, still hurt. And then, because she’d been so open with him, he decided to let her in, let her see a little of his own personal, hellish past.
Josiah knew that Crimson tended to steer away from anything having to do with Billy. He could see she was uncomfortable around him. But, he also knew that Billy desperately loved her and regretted his actions in the past regarding her. He told Crimson about Billy, how Billy had helped him, how Billy had saved him. And as he spoke, he watched the walls come back up. Crimson tried making light of the situation, tried to shift the focus from her and Billy, and their lack of relationship. In doing so, she’d inadvertently brought the conversation right back to Josiah and herself.
“What are your tattoos?” she asked, quickly shifting gears, seeking a diversion.
Josiah grinned to himself; he knew she was reaching for anything to pull her away from her thoughts, but now he was cornered. He’d tried, tried to let it go, but her diversion fueled his desire, fanning the flames until he felt devoured by it. He kept his gaze focused on her — his blue eyes held her golden, honey-brown ones. Maybe it was time she was made perfectly aware of his feelings for her, made to face her attraction to him.
“Are you trying to get me to take my shirt off?” he asked. He kept his voice low, gentle, but there was a world of weight in it.
And Crimson saw it for what it was. She responded. He saw it in her eyes; saw it in the blush staining her cheeks. She quickly tried denying her desire to see him undressed, stammered, and stuttered. Josiah felt the raw, male animal in him growl in anticipation. He chuckled and swiftly stood to remove his shirt.
He watched as Crimson devoured him with her eyes. It was like she was touching him. Everywhere her eyes landed he burned. And then as she stood up and stepped close to him, barely a breath separating them, and lightly touched his chest; he’d barely been able to stand still. What he wanted to do was rub against her, to pull her into him and wrap his arms around her. To take her mouth and possess it. Instead, he held himself absolutely and perfectly still. When her eyes caught his, he saw the questions in them. She’d seen his scars, had touched them gently, hesitantly.
He explained about his mother and saw the horror, the sickness in Crimson’s eyes. He also saw the flash of anger. That fury sparked something inside him. She was protective of him. And that gave Josiah peace. He turned around, let her see his back. It was a beautiful work of art. Dragon wings were tattooed there in intricate detail. He’d picked a dragon because the fire that was meant to break him had only made him stronger. Dragons were not conquered by fire; it was their weapon, their defense.
Josiah turned back around so they were facing each other. Crimson kept her eyes on his chest. Those golden brown orbs just moved enticingly slow across his skin. She tried, once again, to veer off from where he wanted to take her, or maybe it was just that she was trying to slow things down. She asked him why. Why was he helping her? Why had he made her wake up and make a choice?
Josiah knew where his answer was going. He knew he was going to kiss this girl. So, as he told her his reasons, he stepped closer to her; he brushed against her and felt her slight tremor. He traced his hands gently across her shoulders, those shoulders that drove him crazy, reveling in the softness under his palms, feeling the
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